Sparring of Swords
by Siberia1
Summary: When Faramir finally has some free time from his busy schedule, he and Éowyn decide to practice their swordfighting together. Will the two lovers be able to keep their hands off each other? Takes place during ROTK. Update: Added the 5th chapter!
1. The Dawn

**Sparring of Swords**  
Chapter 1 – The Dawn  
by Siberia

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters here (although I wish Faramir was mine!), nor am I making any money out of this. 

Note: If you have read my other Faramir/Éowyn fan fics, I just want to warn you that this one is different (i.e. no angst this time! *gasp*). This story is a lot lighter and playful in tone, plus there is little introspection. These two characters get to have a little fun for once. I simply wanted to experiment with a slightly different style of writing, and hopefully it's still pleasurable to read. 

* * *

  
  


_I remembered my beloved when the passion  
of battle was as fierce  
as the passion of my body as we parted_

I thought I saw, among the lances, the tall  
perfection of her body  
and when they bent toward me, I embraced them.

  
  
Éowyn arose from her slumber to greet the dawn of morning. The White Lady usually did not awake this early, but she was eager to begin the day. Her blood rushed impatiently throughout her veins as she thought of her plans with the Lord Faramir. They were going to practice their sword fighting together, an event she awaited with great anticipation. Though she had given up her life as a Shield-maiden, she did not wish to release herself completely from use of the blade. Éowyn desired to keep her sword skills finely honed, for she could still use them to protect herself if need be. Not to mention that she loved the art of combat too much to wholly abandon it. 

Throughout the spring, Faramir had been occupied with preparations for the return of king, and Éowyn seldom had a chance to be in her betrothed's company. But today would be different, for the young Steward had finally earned himself some free time and he chose to share every moment of it with his future wife. After a hurried breakfast and a quick bath, Éowyn clad herself in her sparring garments and tightly braided her long, golden hair. Without wasting another moment, she shut the door to her guest chamber and strolled with great haste to her beloved.

When she had reached Faramir's room, the maiden was so excited that she did not consider knocking before she burst through his entrance.

"Faramir!" she exclaimed. "Are you –" 

Éowyn could not complete her sentence, for she had become utterly speechless. Her jaw seemed to fall from its hinges as she stood frozen with shock, her right hand instinctively covering her gaping mouth. It took an instant for the Lady of Rohan to realize that her future husband was in the middle of disrobing himself. She saw much of Faramir that she was not supposed to see.

"Éowyn!" the Captain cried in horror. Faramir clumsily attempted to shield his body with whatever stray clothing he had in his arms, though he was certain it was a futile act, for how could he regain any dignity after Éowyn had witnessed so much of his bare self? The young man scolded at himself for his carelessness at leaving the door unlocked. Faramir did his best to sound unfazed by the current state of affairs.

"I did not expect the pleasure of your company so early in the morning, my love," he uttered with an affectionate grin.

The White Lady swiftly turned herself around, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment. Éowyn had to use every ounce of her self-discipline not to burst into giggles at their situation.

"I am so sorry, my Lord!" she exclaimed. "'Tis all my fault! I should have knocked beforehand. How rude of me to come barging in to your chamber like this, especially when you have… um… not much on in terms of garments." Éowyn struggled to face the wall as she tried to avoid catching another glimpse at her betrothed's exquisite form. A slender smile formed on her lips as she recalled his strapping figure.

As Faramir continued to dress himself, he replied tenderly, "As always, my Lady, you are forgiven. You know I can never be cross with you, even with a transgression as serious as this is committed!" 

The maiden's spirit warmed at his soft words. Faramir was by nature a gentle soul, and his irresistible sweetness was one of the many things that she loved about him. How this man could make her swoon with delight without the slightest effort!

"You are too kind, my Lord."

Wishing to shift their conversation away from his near-nakedness, the Steward asked Éowyn, "So, what shall we practice today? Shall we use a shield and a single-handed sword? Or perhaps only a two-handed one?"

Éowyn's heart leapt with exhilaration. Was Faramir letting her decide whichever style she preferred? "You are letting me choose?" she asked, her tone filled with mild surprise.

Faramir suddenly recalled that his betrothed rarely had the opportunity to do whatever she desired, for the demands imposed by her gender had always stood in her path. Remembering how his mother had withered to death in her unhappy marriage, the young man promised himself that he would never allow Éowyn to feel imprisoned in his company. He said to her reassuringly, "Of course. I would not have it any other way. I vowed to make it my personal duty to serve the Lady of Rohan in any fashion she desired. Do you not recall?"

As he mouthed the words, Éowyn believed she would melt in her beloved's gentleness. No man had ever paid so much attention to her happiness. Unceasingly caring and gallant, Faramir would do anything to please her. The maiden felt as though she was the center of his world. Without hesitation, she answered firmly, "How could I forget? You know I cherish our time at the Houses of Healing above all others in my life."

"It delights my heart to hear you say that," the young Captain uttered, his voice clearly revealing his joy. "So, what is your choice, my Lady?"

Éowyn took several seconds to make up her mind. "I think we should only use one-handed swords. 'Tis much more fun that way. Shields are a bit cumbersome. Two-handed blades are much more powerful, of course, but their excessive weight can severely limit one's movement in combat."

"Alright, then." Faramir proceeded to button the rest of his shirt before he told her, "You may turn around now. "

The White Lady once again faced her betrothed, and she ran swiftly into his arms. She squeezed him tightly in her embrace, while Faramir greeted her with a moist kiss on her delicate lips. When he pulled his head away to gaze upon her lovely grey eyes, he noticed something strange about Éowyn's garments.

"Where did you get these clothes?" the Steward inquired. "They look like they were meant for men."

The maiden glanced down at herself and replied, "Oh, these? They were part of my Dernhelm uniform that I brought along from Dunharrow."

"Dernhelm?" Faramir asked, his tone riddled with confusion.

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you about that," Éowyn answered. "Dernhelm was the name I used when I disguised myself as a Rider of the Mark. 'Twas the only way for me to sneak into my uncle's army without his knowledge."

Faramir stared at her with great compassion in his eyes. "I see."

The Lady of Rohan seemed lost in thought as she recalled a memory from her past. "My cousin Théodred was actually the one who gave me these garments when they became too small for him. I liked wearing them more than my gowns, and my whole family made a mockery of me for it."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better," the young Captain responded, "I think you look radiantly dashing in those clothes." He proceeded to press his lips on his beloved's forehead.

Éowyn chuckled at his compliment. "Oh, I missed you so much!" she cried. She pulled him closer to her as she fondled the soft strands of his raven hair. "It is torture for me when you are not by my side for days at a time."

Faramir tenderly moved his fingertips over the contour of her face. "I know, my love. It pains me as well. But there is just so much to do before the Lord Aragorn reclaims the throne." He sighed. "I do not want to waste another moment thinking about work. Today will be our day, just you and me. Let us go to the courtyard then, shall we?"

Éowyn looked up at him with mild bewilderment. "But should we not go the armoury first? I wish to check the weapons. As you already know, I have lost my only sword, and I will need to find a suitable replacement."

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot about that." the Steward answered. "Of course we may go there. How else are we going to joust if you have nothing to defend yourself with!"

The maiden's tone was defiant. "I will have you know that I am pretty good with my fists!" Éowyn then playfully punched her beloved's shoulder. Faramir laughed lightly as placed a kiss on her cheek.

He then gestured his hand towards the door. "After you, my Lady."

"You Gondorians!" she shouted. "Always obsessed with manners! 'Tis pathetic, really. The people of Rohan do not bother themselves with such trivial things."

"Well, you are going to have to get used to it, if you wish to be my wife." Faramir put on a teasing grin before he added, "And besides, it will teach you what 'tis like to live among civilized folk."

Éowyn shoved her future husband forcefully against the wall. "I will make you pay for that slander in the courtyard!"

Trying to recover from the searing ache in his back, Faramir inquired, "Are Rohirrim women usually this violent towards their men?"

"Only when they are irritating!"

The Captain abruptly grabbed his betrothed into his arms, and threw the upper half of her body over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" the White Lady screamed. She attempted to break free from his grip by kicking and hitting him, but Faramir's hold remained firm. "Put me down!" Éowyn commanded.

"You asked for it!" Faramir exclaimed. "I am going to have to carry you to the armoury now if I do not wish to be hurt again."

And so he did, with his future wife wailing and struggling all the way there.

* * *

In case you were curious, the poem at the beginning is called _In Battle_, and it was originally written in the 12th century in Arabic by Abu-L-Hasan Ibn Al-Qabturnuh. You'll see eventually why I included it here. (Or, at least, I hope so! Maybe I'll find out later on that I have no idea why I put it up there!)


	2. The March

**Sparring of Swords**  
Chapter 2 – The March  
by Siberia

* * *

As Faramir carefully marched down the marble staircase, with one arm around the protesting Éowyn and the other leaning against the rail, he began to realize that her incessant racket was going to wake up everyone in the palace. The wisdom that resided in his mind told him that he should release her from his grasp and be considerate to those who were still in the midst of slumber. However, his heart declared that it was having too much fun, and it would not consider letting the Lady of Rohan go free. So, Faramir decided to compromise; he would have to reach the armoury as fast as possible and hope that nobody heard her piercing shrieks.

The more Éowyn struggled, the more the young Captain loved her for it. Throughout his life, he had never been terribly interested in any of the noble ladies of Gondor, though he knew not why until he met the Shield-maiden in the Houses of Healing. Unlike the dull Dúnedain women he was accustomed to, Éowyn was refreshingly different. Every quality that Faramir admired, she possessed it in full; her courage, her strong-will, and her fiery vigour drew her to him like no lady had ever done. While their friendship blossomed, he was pleased to discover that she cared not for superficial things that Gondorian females usually did, like jewelry and fancy gowns. Money and status were not what Éowyn valued, but faithfulness, dignity, and sincerity.

Pulling away from his reverie, Faramir placed his attention back on the fair maiden lying on his shoulder. Quickening his pace, he uttered, "You might as well stop screaming and save your breath, my Lady, for under no circumstances will I lessen my hold on you!"

Despite her avid protests to the contrary, Éowyn secretly adored his playful nature. She realized that she had not experienced this much enjoyment since she had entered womanhood. Her northern pride demanded to be on its own two feet, however, and she became infuriated with her beloved's constant refusal to release her. 

"This is abhorrent!" the White Lady shouted. "This is no way to treat a guest, let alone a princess from the Riddermark! May I remind you that you are but a lowly Steward, with hardly any royal blood in your veins!" She then responded with a Rohirric curse and a rough slap on his back.

"What did you call me?" the young man asked innocently. He crossed the threshold that led to a corridor before he continued speaking. "I have been trying my best to learn Rohirric, but I do not believe you have taught me those words before."

For the first time since Faramir threw her up over his shoulder, the Lady of Rohan spoke in her usual voice. "Well, there really does not seem to be a proper way to translate it into Westron, but I suppose 'tis equivalent to 'you are a big pile horse-manure.'"

Pretending to sound offended, he answered, "Oh! Already such harsh words! And we are not even married, yet. I fear for what will happen when we are!"

Éowyn giggled lightly at her betrothed's remark. "Indeed! No doubt we will be at each other's throats in no time at all." She paused, suddenly remembering her current predicament, and added, "But perhaps you will soon need not to worry about our future, my Lord, for if you do not let me go at this instant, I _will_ break off our engagement!"

As Faramir readjusted his grip on his future wife, he replied, "But if I do that, you will retaliate ferociously."

"No, I will not!" the maiden said in an unusually girlish voice.

"Do you promise?" he demanded, knowing full well she would lie to him.

Not expecting her betrothed to ask that question, she was caught off-guard. "Err... uh... yes! Yes, of course, I promise."

The Captain chuckled at her obvious hesitation. He answered teasingly, "I am truly sorry, my love, but I must continue to carry you. Unlike Rohirrim males, Men from Gondor do not permit themselves to be beaten by their women."

"You will be the first!" Éowyn exclaimed, her tone wroth with determination. "I simply cannot believe you! You claim to be so civilized, yet you Gondorians insult others and subdue your women. I will have you know that not only was I a Shield-maiden, but King Théoden charged me with the care of the townspeople at Dunharrow during the Battle of Helm's Deep. Let us see if you can name a lady in your lands who can claim to possess such responsibility."

Before the Steward could answer her challenge, she abruptly sensed that he had stopped dead in his tracks. After several seconds, it became self-evident that they were no longer moving.

"Uh, Faramir?" the White Lady inquired anxiously. When she received only silence, dread and confusion began to cloud her thoughts. "Are you alright, my Lord?"

Faramir's Elvish instincts told him that others were nearby. He concluded that Éowyn's waling must have alarmed some people, for her screams had echoed throughout the entire palace. No doubt her shrieks made it seem as if she was being murdered. Before the young man could turn back, or find a place to hide, or even consider lowering his future bride, he was at once confronted by a group of nervous and fretful servants.

When Éowyn heard muffled footsteps approaching their position, her cheeks blushed with utter humiliation. _Oh, Valar, no, this cannot be happening!_ Knowing full-well that they had been caught red-handed, she could do nothing but bury her head in shame.

"My Lord Steward!" Ioreth cried. "We heard some commotion in the hallway and we wondered if..." The old woman paused in mid-sentence, absolutely stunned by the display before. The only thing she could say was, "What on earth are you doing with that maiden?"

Faramir's mind filled with panic. _Indeed, what am I doing? Better think of something clever, fast!_ In the most serious tone he could muster, he replied, "I... I am simply... escorting the White Lady of Rohan to the armoury, as she requested of me. Is there something wrong with that?"

Ioreth and the other maids had some difficulty absorbing his statement. "Err... I suppose not," some of the women uttered quietly.

It was not much, but Faramir did feel some relief. _Thank the Valar I inherited my father's quick-wittedness._ "Now, please, everyone, if you will excuse us..." The young man barged through the crowd, eager to get away from their accusing eyes. _I just hope that the servants' gossip does not reach Aragorn or Éomer's ears . Or else I will soon have two men chasing after my head!_

As Ioreth and the ladies stared in silent disbelief, they watched as the Captain disappeared down the corridor, with his Lady still hunched over his shoulder. Her face remained covered by her hands.


	3. The Armoury

**Sparring of Swords**  
Chapter 3 – The Armoury  
by Siberia

* * *

When the couple had reached their destination, Faramir finally lowered his betrothed onto her feet, and positioned her at its entrance. Éowyn was baring her teeth like a predator about to slash the flesh off its prey, and she kicked him in the shins for carrying her against her will.

"What in Valar's name was that for?!" Faramir cried, wincing somewhat at the throbbing pain.

Éowyn shot a malicious glance at him. "_That_ was for embarrassing in front almost everyone and carrying me around like a baby!"

"Well," the young man scoffed, "you were certainly acting like one! If you did not make such a scene while I brought you here, none of this would have happened. But I suppose that is what I get for being involved with a barbarian noblewoman."

Her jaw dropped to the ground at his remark. "How _dare_ you show such contempt towards the sister of the Rohirrim King! 'Tis very unbecoming conduct for the Steward of Gondor! I could throw you off the roof for that!"

The Captain placed his fingers beneath Éowyn's chin and said, "I admit that I have not had the chance to appraise you, so I am in no position to judge your abilities. But I am no weakling, either, and I would _love_ to see you try."

"You are absolutely insupportable!" she roared, crossing her arms in irritation.

Faramir pulled the maiden close to him, and said to her in an amusing tone, "Calm yourself down, my Lady, for you will not have any strength left to fight me."

"That is what you think!" Éowyn retorted. 

"Despite how lowly you may think of my combat skills," he added, "I will have you know that since my brother's death and the Lord Aragorn's departure, I am the best swordsman in Minas Tirith."

The White Lady knew in her heart that what Faramir had said was true, but she was never one to turn down a challenge. "We shall soon see about that, my Lord. You have never faced the fearsome wrath of a Shield-maiden in battle before!" She was about to punch her future husband once more when he seized her arm mid-way through the air.

The Steward was becoming slightly exasperated with his beloved's unruly behaviour. He carefully uncurled her fingers and stroked them as he spoke. "Éowyn, please! You are acting like a child! Why do you have to be so angry with me all the time?"

Not wishing for his beloved to remain in such a foul mood, Faramir lowered his head onto her neck, and pressed his lips gently on every sensitive spot he could reach. He loved the feel of her cool skin, which contrasted nicely against the warmth of his mouth. It had always puzzled him how his simple kisses, which he thought were nothing special, seemed to tame Éowyn's raw and lively savageness. Almost instantly, Faramir sensed that his beloved's muscles had begun to relax, and her aggression seemed to gradually subdue itself beneath his soothing touch. The young man then decided to entice her further by whispering seductively into her ear, "Are these caresses making you feel any better, my love?"

The Lady of Rohan slowly shut her eyelids so she could focus solely on his delicate lips, her mouth parted slightly to let out a contented sigh. "Hmm…yes," she purred, "they do indeed." Her slender fingers then worked their way around Faramir's head to stroke his dark hair. As Éowyn felt his wondrous skin brushing against hers, she secretly thought how unusually soft it was for one who had fought for so many years as a soldier. How it had managed to remain so smooth when it had been exposed to the most inhospitable environments was simply beyond her comprehension. Éowyn moaned gently once more from his enchanting kiss as she contemplated how fortunate she was to have found such a unique man.

Once Faramir felt that he had sufficiently pacified the White Lady, he began to reluctantly lift his lips from her pale neck. But Éowyn had enjoyed their exchange too much, and she would not allow him to escape from her grip so effortlessly. 

"I did not tell you to stop, my Lord," she breathed tenderly. Éowyn then forcefully proceeded to press his marvelous mouth onto to hers, and she embraced it softly. She adored everything about it; its taste, its warmth, its moisture. The maiden became enraptured by his tongue, delighting in its sweetness. She deemed Faramir to be skillful at his craft, for his simple kiss seemed to magically open every pore of her being, seemingly freeing her from all constraints. During this fervent encounter, Éowyn began to feel utterly powerless over the lust she possessed for him. She soon realized that she would be completely at her betrothed's mercy as her body melted further into his arms.

The young Captain at first tried to move away from her lips when she pulled his head towards hers, but found himself unable to resist her demands. Their exchange had become much more passionate than anything they had shared before. He could tell by Éowyn's sudden burst of enthusiasm for his mouth that she had completely surrendered herself to him. Faramir allowed a moment to savour his Lady's wondrous embrace, but his mind pondered anxiously on how much longer he could enjoy this before his treacherous body would reveal its deepest desires to her. The young man secretly wished that they were already married so that they could explore each other as much as they desired. But he could not allow for anything serious to happen, not yet, no matter how much they both craved for it.

Though he loathed to end their kiss, Faramir quickly freed himself from the Lady of Rohan's grasp. When he stared into her eyes, he could read that she seemed distraught by his sudden rejection.

"I am sorry," he mumbled apologetically, his breathing still erratic from the intensity of their embrace. "We really should not be doing this anymore." 

Éowyn gasped in horror. "Why? Have I done something to upset you? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course, not, my love," the young man replied tenderly. "There is nothing in the world I want to do more than to provide you with whatever you wish, which in this case is to pleasure you, but I am afraid that if we continue like this, I might lose control. I do not wish to offend you in any way before our wedding night." 

Éowyn grew up among men, and rowdy Rohirrim ones at that, so she was not ignorant as to what her future husband was referring to. She had known for a very long time of the subtle power that women could possess over men, and how difficult it was for the latter to restrain themselves. The maiden nodded her head to show her understanding of Faramir's reluctance.

"Well, that is a relief," she replied. "For a second, I thought you did not like what we were doing!"

Faramir stroked the side of her cheek, and smiled warmly. "Not like what we did? Impossible. In fact, 'tis because I enjoyed it so much that I fear for my self-discipline." 

"We were having a little bit too much too fun, I suppose," Éowyn uttered sheepishly.

Faramir nodded his head in agreement. "And besides, the armoury is really not the best place for us to be showing our affection. 'Tis a horribly unromantic setting. Look at these dreadful maces hanging from the ceiling! They simply will not do at all for any form of lovemaking! Unless one is really sick, of course."

Éowyn then burst into hysterical laughter. She loved it whenever he made a jest, for his delightful brand of humour never failed to raise her spirits.

"Now then, which sword would you like, my Lady?" the Steward asked, gesturing to the large display that stood before them.

Her grey eyes lit up to see so many different blades at her disposal. She gazed at each weapon in sheer wonder. With the eagerness of a child, she uttered "I do not know! There is so much to choose from!"

"Well, you can stay here until you select the right one," Faramir replied. "I will be waiting for you in the courtyard. You do know where it is, right?"

The maiden nodded her head. "Yes. I searched for it yesterday."

"Take as much time as you want. You are going to have to carefully pick your sword if you have _any_ hope of beating me." The Captain then winked at her mischievously.

Éowyn's face fumed with displeasure. "I would have thrown you against the wall for that remark if it were not for the many spears standing behind you! I would not wish to impale the Lord of the City, even if he was asking for it, for 'tis a crime punishable by death in Gondor, is it not?"

Faramir smiled at her question. "Of course, my Lady. I can only hope you will remember that before you decide to slaughter me in battle." 

"Perhaps," Éowyn answered coyly. "It depends on how much you infuriate me!"

The Steward gently caressed her hands. "There is really no such thing as a friendly match with you, is there?" he remarked. "A true Shield-maiden from the North, you are. Always wild and hot-tempered!"

"That may be true, my Lord," the White Lady responded flatly, "but admit it; you love me for every hissy fit that I make. I am certain you must have noticed there is never a dull moment when you are with me."

"I guess I cannot deny that." Faramir then bent down to kiss his future wife on her cheek. Once his embrace was complete, he departed, leaving Éowyn behind to choose her blade.


	4. The Battle

**Sparring of Swords**  
Chapter 4 – The Battle  
by Siberia

I'm relieved that the 3rd chapter was so well-received! I actually had a nightmare the night I posted it, and I dreamt that you guys tried to hunt me down like an animal because you hated what I wrote so much. I know, I'm such a worry wart, and it's not even for a valid reason! :-) Well, here is the couple's sparring match! I don't know a thing about sword-fighting, so please be easy on me!

* * *

Faramir swung his sword in various directions as he practiced his offensive stances. The sharp sound the weapon made as it sliced through the air was heard constantly in the courtyard. He started to feel a bit restless and fretful. By his reckoning, more than twenty minutes must have passed since he had left his betrothed in the armoury. The Captain began to wonder if Éowyn enjoyed examining arms of war more than actually using them.

Suddenly, Faramir's felt a warning in his heart. The Elvish part of his blood began to flow rapidly, whispering to him of impending danger. He had trained himself from an early age to listen to it, and to act on it instinctively, no matter how strange or abrupt the feeling might have seemed to him. The young man had long lost count how may times his Elvish qualities, however minute they were, came in handy.

Faramir immediately turned around to face his opponent, his blade already in a high defensive position. A loud, metallic clash echoed throughout the courtyard. He saw his assailant clearly, and he was not the least bit surprised to discover that it was Éowyn.

"Do Shield-maidens of the Riddermark always sneak up on their opponents like that?" the Steward asked gravely, his deep voice clearly revealing that he was not a warrior to be trifled with. "'Tis not very noble of them."

The Lady of Rohan gradually lowered her sword, her fair face showing her mild disappointment. A wicked grin appeared on her features, annoyed that she had been caught. "No, my Lord. I just wanted to give you a little scare, and perhaps a nasty scar as well! This trick usually works on my brother and on Théodred, but I obviously underestimated your skills."

Faramir pretended to give his beloved a disapproving look. "So you purposely remained in the armoury in the hopes that I would forget about you and lower my guard?"

Éowyn's grey eyes twinkled maliciously. "Yes! And I would do it again."

The young man smiled at her playfulness. "I guess I better keep a steady watch on my back whenever I am with you."

"Well, you cannot _always_ be cautious," she teased. "Perhaps you will not be so perceptive the next time."

"I would not count on it." Faramir then walked some distance away from her position. When he turned to face the maiden again, he asked her, "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I will ever be. Prepare to suffer the consequences for the slander you made of my people!"

Éowyn proceeded to bless her weapon by pressing it against her forehead. The Captain was well aware of this tradition, having seen many of his soldiers perform this rite on countless occasions. However, he himself had never done it, for he did not view his blade as something precious or sacred. Faramir had always thought it was outlandish for warriors to give names to their swords as if they were living beings. As far as he was concerned, they were merely tools to defend what he loved most.

Faramir began to pace in a circular manner around the courtyard, never taking his focus off of his opponent. The White Lady followed his example and started to do the same, always ensuring that a straight line was drawn between them. For several more seconds, the lovers continued to observe each other in this fashion, awaiting for their betrothed to strike first. Éowyn, who was by nature a bit impatient, felt that the joust was talking too long start. She decided to take the initiative and lunged her blade forwards.

"Defend yourself!" she screamed, her tone clearly voicing out the intensity of her battle prowess.

Faramir instantly sensed what she intended to do. He easily countered the maiden's first strike, though for a moment he believed that his sword would shatter, for she had attacked him with unbelievable force. He could not deny the raw power that Rohirrim warriors could place in their blows, but he secretly thought that they lacked much grace and finesse in their mode of combat. As the Steward continued to block Éowyn's powerful hits with increasing difficulty, he figured that he would have to rely on his wits and speed if he wished to win. The young man knew that he did not possess the same strength in his hits as she did. Sooner or later, he will begin to tire, and when that time came, he would not be able avoid her ferocious strikes forever.

As the sparring wore on, the Lady of Rohan felt frustrated by Faramir's ability to counter all of her blows. If she had been fighting her brother or cousin, she would have hit them at least once by now. She persisted in her offense, occasionally roaring a fierce battle cry. Éowyn did this not only in the hopes of frightening her enemy, but it also seemed to give her more power than she did before. As she remained unrelenting in her attack, she detected a slight crumbling in the young man's ability to deflect her strikes. However, no matter what technique the maiden had used, she could not penetrate through Faramir's seemingly impeccable defense. Although she was not a woman who was discouraged easily, she could not help but feel that the young Captain had already determined her weaknesses and was quietly planning how to defeat her. Éowyn sensed that she was simply delaying the inevitable as best as she could.

As Faramir continued to be on the defensive, he found himself unable to do anything but evade the White Lady's fearsome blows. He could not shake the feeling that the match was somehow very familiar to something he had experienced before. He suddenly recalled that Boromir fought in a similar fashion, at least at the beginning. On a very few occasions, the young Steward had managed to beat his older brother in combat, and he struggled to remember how he did so. 

As time wore on, Éowyn came to the conclusion that she could not win by simply attacking her enemy. Not only were her methods unsuccessful, but the energy required to fuel her vicious strikes was quickly draining away all of her strength. With the last vestiges of her raw force, she had managed to corner Faramir, but as it happened many times before, his unusual agility had freed him from her trap.

The Captain was surprised that he had lasted this long. He could not count the number times his betrothed had nearly sliced his off head or stabbed him in the stomach. Faramir began to notice that Éowyn's hits were no longer threat to him. He quickly perceived that her defensive techniques were not as good as his, and he easily saw breaks in certain positions. The young man swiftly moved his sword through one of her weak spots. Éowyn immediately evaded his strike as to not to receive a wound, but he still managed to cut through some of her clothing. Much of her shoulder and the upper part of her chest were revealed. She yelped from the shock of seeing her shirt so torn. Faramir attempted, somewhat unsuccessfully, to conceal his laughter.

"Oh! Trying to get revenge for my unannounced visit to your chamber, are we?" the maiden inquired angrily, her grey eyes glaring menacingly at her beloved.

Though Faramir did not intend for his Lady's skin to be so exposed, he decided to reply with a mischievous grin, if only to provoke her. "You could say that."

"I will get you for attempting to rip off my garments, you dishonourable wrench!" Despite her slight fatigue, she charged towards him once more.

At that instant, the Steward recalled how he had trapped Boromir. Knowing full well that Éowyn was similar to his brother in pride, he decided to use it to bring her own downfall. Faramir allowed for his unarmed hand to be vulnerable. As expected, he felt the cold metal tip of her sword slice the surface of its skin.

"Ha ha! First blood!" Éowyn cried victoriously, raising her arms in the air. She quickly sensed when her betrothed seemed distracted from the sparring, and took advantage of the moment.

"But you have not won the match, yet," Faramir reminded her, ignoring the stinging pain from his injury and the slight stench of his blood.

The maiden retorted proudly, "I know, but 'tis more than you have done up 'til now."

As soon as she had uttered those words, Éowyn suddenly felt her body smash unto the ground. She did not know how, but the Faramir had managed to trip her while she talked. She silently cursed at his incredible speed and at her carelessness. Éowyn realized that he had purposely left himself open at that spot to trick her, knowing that she would take the bait and boast about it. She abruptly became aware that her weapon was no longer within her grasp. Struggling to spot it, the Lady of Rohan was about to crawl towards her blade, but her betrothed was too swift.

The Captain promptly kicked her sword out of reach. He leaned downwards, pointing his weapon at her chest. Though the sound was faint, he was certain that he had heard a growl emanating from Éowyn's throat. 

"Do you surrender?" Faramir asked firmly. 

* * *

To Laurenne: Whoa, if you think Éowyn needs Ritalin, then you must think I'm super-hyper as well; I did the same thing to my boyfriends when they teased me, and they didn't consider it abuse; they knew it was just a rough to display of my affection for them. I think you're taking this story a little _too_ seriously. Éowyn is playing around with Faramir, nothing more. (She was joking about that "nasty scar" thing, by the way!) I always imagined her being tomboy in her youth, and I'm positive she acted this way with her brother and cousin. Éowyn feels so comfortable in Faramir's presence that she has no qualms about being childish with him. I hope that helped you understand why I made her character that way.


	5. The Surrender

**Sparring of Swords**  
Chapter 5 – The Surrender  
by Siberia

They lose control of their hormones again! And no chaperone, on top of that. Tsk, tsk, tsk! ;-p

* * *

The White Lady bared her teeth at her opponent, and she groaned loudly in irritation. She resented being at the mercy of someone's blade tip. Her voice roared with defiance. "I will have my revenge at our next sparring match. Just you wait! I will not be defeated so easily. I _will_ find away to even the score!"

Faramir smiled warmly. "I have not no doubt, my Lady. You nearly murdered me on several occasions! Has anyone told you how bloodthirsty you look when you fight? No wonder Éomer and Théodred can hardly match you in battle. Your ferocity alone probably scared them out of his wits!"

Despite her fury at being defeated, Éowyn could not help but chuckle at his statement. She graciously accepted it as a compliment. "Why thank you, my Lord."

The Steward disposed of his weapon and offered his hand to his future wife. Éowyn raised her arm, pretending to accept his palm, when she quickly moved her foot beneath his and tripped him. The Steward fell flat on his back, and was briefly stunned by the sudden impact. She swiftly took advantage of his moment of weakness, raising herself up onto him. She straddled his body in between her legs to pin him onto the floor. As a gesture of both affection with frustration, the maiden smacked Faramir hard against his chest.

"Ow!" he yelped. "That really hurt, you know. You say that you are no longer a Shield-maiden, but you obviously still retained her savage nature!"

Faramir tried to lift himself up from the floor, but his betrothed abruptly pushed him down again with the force of her arms.

"I told you I would get even, one way or another!" Éowyn shouted proudly. "You are staying on the ground until I feel like letting you go."

"You cut my hand! Please, I have to go stitch it."

"No, you cannot escape so easily from me!"

The Captain gazed up at his betrothed, his annoyance clearly spread out across his features. "I won our joust fair and square! Do not be such a sore loser."

"Loser?!" the Lady of Rohan cried. She slapped him violently once again. 

As his future wife continued to stare down at him, Faramir discerned that something had changed abruptly in her demeanor. Éowyn seemed to be watching him closely, her grey eyes examining his face with great scrutiny. He did not need his Númenorian insight to tell him that she was lustfully appraising him. The young man suspected that the aggression from their sparring was silently fueling her excitement. Despite his own best efforts to ignore his earthly cravings, Faramir himself began to take notice of many things; her beautiful exposed flesh, her rapid breathing, her flushed cheeks, her reddened lips, how lovely she looked as her golden hair strands slipped loose from her braid, and how incredibly close her body was to his.

"Oh, _why_ do you have to be so sweet and adorable, Man of Gondor?" she asked helplessly as her fingers traced the contours his features. "You insult me endlessly, and yet I simply do not have the means to resist you."

"You actually think I am adorable?" Faramir replied with a loving grin. "I have not heard that in a long time. I think only my mother called me that. Oh, and uncle Imrahil, too, whenever he felt like teasing me."

"And," Éowyn continued, "may I add that you are very graceful when you fight. Of all my years training as a Shield-maiden, I do not believe that I have ever seen anyone move so beautifully in combat like you do."

"Thank you, my Lady."

"And since you do not seem able to say anything nice about the Rohirrim, that is the last compliment you will ever get from me, you arrogant, obnoxious Gondorian pig!"

Faramir glimpsed at the maiden sweetly while he pouted his lips, pretending to look like a hurt, sad child. "Oh! That is very mean!" he cried. 

The White Lady's heart melted to see her Lord so adorable-looking, and she lowered her mouth unto his, kissing him in a motherly fashion. Her face then hovered just above her beloved, for she wished to feel the warmth of his breath while they conversed together. Éowyn spoke with a playful voice while she caressed his face. "Well, perhaps I can offer you one final kind word, just to make you feel better. Have I ever told you what a lovely, handsome man you are?"

"No, but I did see it in your eyes this morning when you caught me more than half-naked!" the Steward exclaimed loudly.

Éowyn laughed cheerfully, recollecting the wondrous images his lissom figure. "How did you know?!" she demanded. She sighed at his uncanny ability to read her heart. "Nothing ever escapes your meticulous attention, does it?"

Raising his fingers to trace the curve of her lips, Faramir replied, "No, my love, especially when it concerns you."

"Well, at least _I_ know what magnificent delights await for me on our wedding night!" Éowyn declared as she smiled maliciously at the thought. "I truly believed I turned around fast enough for you not to notice."

Faramir rolled his grey eyes, and spoke to her with an accusing tone. "You certainly did not! I saw how you lingered at my entrance with your mouth wide open, just staring at my body."

"I could not help it! 'Tis your fault if you had to be so… stunning," the maiden answered defensively. 

"That does not change the fact that it was very rude and inconsiderate of you. But I guess I should have expected that from a Rohirrim woman raised with such unrefined manners."

The young Captain winked at her as only as he could. It possessed both a sly malice and a boyish charm. Éowyn found his gesture to be at once enticing and insufferable. Her face grew even more red than before as she pounded her beloved's chest with both her fists. "Take back that slur!"

Despite the soreness he felt, Faramir gazed defiantly into her eyes. "Never."

The Lady of Rohan abruptly grabbed him betrothed by his collar. Her grip was tight, and it seemed to choke him, for Faramir immediately began struggling for air. She was still violent from the sword fight, and he was uncertain as to how far Éowyn would carry on this prank. As much as he had enjoyed provoking her, he quickly realized he would have to stop his mischief or else risk being close to death. The young man knew of only one method to tame her hostility. Though he still feared for his self-discipline, Faramir raised his uninjured hand, burying it into her thick hair. He then swiftly pulled the maiden's soft lips unto his, surrendering his mouth completely to her.

Hungry for his passionate touch, Éowyn accepted her betrothed's offer without hesitation, and shut her eyelids. At once, her hold on him lessened, for she was no longer able to concentrate on her task. Almost immediately, her senses became inflamed; his wooded scent drove her mad with desire, and his tongue sent tingling sensations wildly throughout her body. The maiden's left hand searched frantically for Faramir's raven hair, finally entwining itself deep within its soft strands. Her other hand gripped his chest, her fingers sensuously caressing the muscles that lay beneath his garment. After several moments of being locked in this wondrous exchange, Éowyn could not longer resist her impulses and she promptly began to loosen the first few buttons of his shirt. The sensation of her bare palm against his skin made her future husband gasp.

Gently pushing her face away, Faramir swiftly broke their embrace. "Oh, my love…" the Steward managed to breathe, his concern wreaking havoc across his features.

"Shhh… do not say anything…" the White Lady whispered, moving her mouth down to capture his tender lips once again.

Faramir leaned his head sideways, the source of his future wife's pleasure sufficiently beyond of her reach. "Éowyn, please," he pleaded. "I am going to dishonour you soon if we do not halt this at once. I do not wish for that to happen."

"I love you with all my heart, Faramir," the maiden replied firmly while she passionately kissed his neck and cheek. "Nothing your body does can offend me."

The young man struggled to restrain his lust while Éowyn continued to provocatively stroke his chest. "Even so, my Lady, we really must stop. We are both lost losing control…"

"Just a bit longer," she purred. "A little more cannot possibly hurt us."

"And you think you are the only one having problems resisting," Faramir retorted, feeling completely helpless beneath the glare of Éowyn's beauty. Despite the strong objections of his mind, they were not enough to prevent his heart from muttering out loud, "Oh alright, just a little…"

Cursing at own his weakness, the Captain gave his future wife his mouth once more, which she welcomed whole-heartedly. Faramir then proceeded to shift his wounded hand over his beloved's body to grasp her waist, pulling Éowyn closer to him. He lowered his other arm from her hair and briefly held her pale face in his palm before his fingers delicately traced her neck. Before he knew it, his hand stroked gently all over her exposed flesh. His lips sought desperately for her shoulder and her upper chest, leaving a trail of fervent kisses in his wake. Éowyn's moans and sighs excited Faramir even more as her lips pressed against the surface of his chest, quickening his already rapid breathing.

The raw energy from their sparring fed profusely into the lovers' torrential passion, its intensity increasing dangerously with every touch they exchanged. Only the Valar know what might have occurred if they were not interrupted by the sudden shuffling of feet…

* * *

The suspense is going to kill you, right? ;-) Please post a review!


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